Loving the Un-Lovable (My Family)

What is love?  Where does it come from?  How do I get some more?

These are all the questions that have been running around in my head for the past few days.  I stumbled across another blogger's posting about an interaction she had with her child.  This mother, in a moment of intense frustration (when her child was acting quite "unlovable"),  simply knelt down and held her child close with an incredible outpouring of grace and acceptance.  I found tears coming to my eyes as I read this, picturing one of my own youngsters in the many moments of chaotic, anger-inducing behavior - and realized how often I lack a loving, gracious response toward them.

I also set myself up for some serious soul-searching this past weekend, after reading a biography about Mother Teresa.  I read it all in one sitting; just amazed at the incredible love of Jesus that poured through that woman.  She stretched her hand out to the dirty, broken, lost, forgotten and rejected, and embraced them with an acceptance and love as if she was ministering to the Lord Jesus, in living flesh.  Her whole life was poured out as a gift to the Lord, a true example of "pure and undefiled religion" from James 1:27 as she ministered to "widows and orphans in their trouble".

How incredible, I thought, it would be to have a chance to pour out the love of God to the most needy and broken.  In fact, I will soon be presented with that opportunity as I travel to India later this year on mission trip.  My heart breaks with the knowledge of the suffering that afflicts so many children worldwide - never to have the comforts of clean clothes, a warm bed and a full tummy - let alone someone who loves them and tells them: "You are valuable."

In the middle of my pondering, however, I was convicted to think of how I relate to my own family.  I have been struggling recently with feeling a lack of love for my kids and husband.  I mean, I know that I love them and I would do anything for them, but when it comes to the little, every day situations, I don't always act in a loving way.  This made me think of the words of Jesus in Matthew 25: 35-40

For I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in;  I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.'  Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You?  Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?'  And the King will answer and say to them, 'Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.'

I had to be honest with myself, and acknowledge that my family; my husband and kids, also qualify as "the least of these".   If I am admonished to show love and care to strangers, how much more love should I show to my relatives?  Just because I am so familiar with them and see them every single day when they are grumpy, tired, dirty and annoying - doesn't mean that they are exempt from being treated graciously.

One of the problems I have, and I hope I'm not the only one - is that it seems so NOBLE and virtuous to minister to the poor, needy children on the other side of the world.  There is something exotic about the entire experience because it is so far removed from our normal, everyday lives.  Yet, loving our own - our family, and even our next-door neighbors - is a tremendous effort.

A face only a mother could love...

There's something extremely difficult about speaking kindly and graciously to someone who continually makes noise - loud, obnoxious, repetitive noise - all day long, in the comfort of your home.  It's hard to love the child who spilled sugar all over the floor - again - when they shouldn't even have gotten into the sugar in the first place.  It's hard to love the snot-crusted baby who just pooped for the 6th time that day, and has oatmeal paste sticking in the folds of his neck AND just dumped another roll of toilet paper into the toilet.  (Yes, that sort of stuff does happen to me!)  It's also hard to love your spouse when life is busy and you have endless tasks to take care of, and little energy left at the end of the day to speak sweet words and dedicate moments to encouraging them when it feels like you're about to fall apart yourself.

Now I will set out to answer the questions posed at the beginning of this blog posting.  First: What is love?  Certainly it is not a feeling.  Love can be supported by feelings and it can be characterized by how you feel about someone - but love has a lot more to do with action and choice than our up and down, fickle emotional state.   Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.   (1 Cor. 13)

My second question concerning love was:  Where does it come from?  I can answer that with another passage from the Bible. 1 John 4:7,8 says: Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This all ties in with the final question I posed: How do I get some more?  We all long to be loved and accepted.  We all have yearning in our hearts for real love that lasts and does not hold us to our faults.  As I read about Mother Teresa and wondered what her secret was for being so amazing and loving, I was not at all surprised to find that she often emphasized the importance of early morning prayer.  She said that it would be impossible to go out and minister to, and help others, without first being filled.  

It is so "easy" to live by a set of rules and establish for ourselves a religious mindset that we adhere to.  It is quite another thing altogether, to practice engaging in relationship with God.  I love not, because I lack a knowledge of God and His love.  I keep myself too busy - albeit, busy with noble, 'godly' tasks, that leave me lacking in the one thing I need most: Love.  If I really want to be a more loving person, and be a blessing to the "unlovable" people who challenge me day after day with their imperfections,  I must fill up on true love myself.  

It's not always easy to show real, unconditional love to the people closest to you in life.  Additionally, I would argue that it is next to impossible to accomplish this without the love of God dwelling in your heart.  We aren't meant to exist on our own strength of will or on the idea of being noble and virtuous.  We exist to be loved, and then to love.  All it takes is opening the door of your heart to God's kind of love, and allowing Him to come in and fill you.

The Failings of Fortitude

Weakness... the very word leaves a foul taste in my mouth.  I'm no sissy.  I'm not weak!

I was the tough kid.  I was always a little squirt - often the shortest in my class, but I made up for my size with effort and exhuberence.  In the typical recess soccer game, I'd be the first girl picked, even first out of many of the boys because I tried to approach the game fearlessly and I wasn't afraid to get my shins kicked (or do some shin-kicking myself).  My knees were often scabbed, my hair tousled with lopsided ponytails and I wore my brother's hand-me-downs with pride.  Pretty clothes were for church, but the real world required me to face dirt head-on, to stand up for the under-dog and to show off how strong and fast I could be.

When I was a teenager, it was no different.  I took up running because it was hard.  I wanted to be fit and athletic and I was rather influenced by the insurgence of martial-arts and secret-service type movies, where the main character had to train hard to be like the Energizer Bunny (built to last) and be able to conquer the enemy.  I liked to wear camouflage pants with a black tank top and tried to create an image that said:  I'm tough, I'm strong, and I won't let anything hurt me or get in my way!

As I said, I took up running and at one point got myself very sick because of my stubborn approach.  I felt like I was training harder and better if the elements were against me, so one week, after a few runs in the rain, despite a cough and cold, I developed pneumonia.  I was 16 years old and in the middle of the night, as I grew more seriously ill, I felt miserable and wanted to climb into my parent's bed like a little girl.  Due to my high fever, I began to hallucinate and hear strange dripping noises that wouldn't stop.  I was shaking and shivering, and managed to climb out of bed, checking the taps in the bathroom and kitchen and yet I couldn't make the dripping noise stop!  I stood outside of my parent's door hesitantly for at least 10 minutes, tears in my eyes, feeling a frantic desperation to have someone help me.  I didn't realize I was so sick - and just felt like I was going crazy!  In the end, I couldn't let myself become weak like a child and wake my parents.  I was "grown-up" now.  I was sixteen!  So I spent the next hours until morning shivering on my bed as the fever ravaged my body and my lungs ached with every breath.  In the morning, my mom was shocked at my condition and told me that I should have woke her up.  I shrugged, in typical, uninterested teenage fashion, but did not resist being mothered and cared for after an x-ray showed I had pneumonia!

Over the years, there has always been something in me that despises weakness.  Perhaps it was the fact that I grew up (as I've mentioned before) as my older brother's tag-a-long.  Perhaps it is simply a product of my life's experiences both good and bad - but regardless, I resent the points in time where I can no longer rely on my strength of will and determination to get me through a situation.  It's as though I've felt that if I just work hard enough, just endure long enough, then I can get through ANYTHING.  However, that's not always the case.

The more I become aware of other people's hurts - whether it is my children, or friends, or people my husband and I care for in our church - the more I realize that I am just not strong enough to fix it!  The weight and cares become a burden that break my heart and bring me to helplessness.  The problems are too great - I don't have enough wisdom, I don't have enough money to bail out my friend who's in a tight spot financially and I don't have the magical ability to make everything better.  Then there is the fact that people often make mistakes - specifically my kids - and I can't always erase the problem and make it go away.  I can't always be there to hold my child's hand, and sometimes the decisions they make will break my heart.

I think that being a "tough" person is an asset, but it can also be a misfortune.  It means that my first instinct isn't to ask for help.  It means I am less likely to share my feelings and struggles.  Most of all, it often takes me tripping over an obstacle or working so hard that I become run-down, worn-out and depleted of strength before I realize: "Hey... maybe I should ask God for help?!"  Duh!

One of the most heartening scriptures to me is from 2 Corinthians 12:10 "For when I am weak, then I am strong.", speaking of Christ's ability to work through our inability.  You see, we don't often ask for help and rely on God when things are going great.  Those are the times where we feel that we are coasting on our enduring human effort, our formulaic prayers, and our indispensable wisdom and knowledge.  Then something knocks you off of your high horse (life happens...) and disappointments leave you feeling broken, shattered and desperately frail.  And you sit in the mess of your life, lamenting the hurts and challenges, weeping tears of defeat, until you finally think:  Maybe I should ask God for help? 


I don't think God ever intended to be our "9-1-1" emergency phone number.  At least, that is not the primary interaction He was hoping to have with us in this life.  Yes, He cares when you are in a state of crisis, but He also wants to hear about the good stuff, the mundane stuff, the kind of stuff you talk to your best friend about while drinking lattes and staring out the window.  God is not wearied by our prayer lists and repetition - we can see that scripture encourages "effectual, fervent prayer" (James 5:16).  However, Jesus came to this earth to show us how to have intimate communication with Him.  He came here to interact with, lead and befriend people who were tired, weary, and broken.  We can see by His relationship with the disciples that they interacted on a fairly intimate level.  They were a community that ate, traveled, worked and lived together; unlike the multitudes that only gathered around to hear a nice story, get a free meal or ask for help when they were sick and in crisis.  I want to interact with Jesus as one who truly follows Him in all areas of my life.  It's not enough for me to just run to Him when something goes wrong! 

It goes against my nature, but I'm looking to become more broken before the Lord.  Psalm 34:18 says: The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.  Do I want to be closer to the Lord?  Absolutely.  Do I want to be broken?  Not a chance.  Yet... I've seen the end of myself before and it's not pretty.  I've been beaten down by life before and it really sucks.  In the same way that I refused to call on my mom and dad when I was a stubborn, sick sixteen-year-old, I often ignore the presence of God that could be in my life, in a more tangible way.  I don't want to let it go that far anymore... so, I'll admit it right now that I am not strong enough.  I need help.  I need God.

Memory Lane... the back alley

I clearly remember the day I learned to ride a two-wheeler.  There are not a lot of childhood memories that stick out in my mind, but this one seems to establish itself as a rite of passage from being a "little-kid" to being more grown up, just like my brother.

I grew up as a side-kick to my older bother, as a member of the "perfect" family (meaning there was 'one of each').  Not only was I the only girl, but I was the youngest, and if I remember correctly, I had the ability to get myself out of trouble a lot more easily than my brother did!  However, that didn't mean I was a sissy.  First of all, my mom was not into tea parties and beauty pageants and instead favored being strong and sensible.  Her hobbies were nature and fitness and she portrayed a model of  practical and capable woman for me as I grew up.  The other side of the coin, was the fact that if I wanted someone to play with, I would have to go along with my brother's plans and keep up with him.  He wasn't about to slow down and play with dolls (not that I owned very many). 

Additionally, we didn't have a ton of extra money as a family - it was the early 80's and my parents were Easterners (from Ontario), fleeing the recession, hoping to make a new start in oil-rich Alberta.  So, even though I was a girl, I ended up with many hand-me-downs from my older brother.  I remember in particular, a pair of green-jean overalls, and a red and white striped t-shirt that I used to wear.  I loved that outfit for some reason, and I can remember with clarity the way the seam of the overall bib strained across my stomach when I began to outgrow it!  (Part of the ill-fit was due to the fact that I wasn't the same string-bean type of physique as my brother so it didn't just get short in the legs, but most definitely grew tight in the tummy!) 

So maybe you can take a trip back in time with me... as you picture a little 5 year old girl with long brown pony-tails, scruffy overalls and bare feet. My brother and I spent our summers in bare feet - I don't think sandals were as cheap or readily available as today, and by summer-time, the former years' school shoes were often feeling tight.  We used to toughen up the soles of our feet, competing by racing down the gravel back alley bare-footed, to show how tough we were.  Sure enough, by the middle of summer, our feet were insulated with thick soles and we thought nothing of charging out onto the sizzling hot concrete or chasing each other out on the rocky back alley!

Back to that memorable day.  My brother and I were hanging out in the alley behind our house, and I was growing tired of watching him race back and forth on his two wheeler.   This was way back in the days where helmets were unheard of, and kids raced around their neighborhoods like wild animals - only to come indoors at mealtimes.  Along those lines of "safety-consciousness", my brother would give me the occasional ride on his handlebars - but even that thrill was wearing off!  So I convinced him to let me try to ride his bike.  At first he opposed me, coming up with a variety of excuses, including the fact that I wasn't anywhere near big enough.  It was true, of course, and I could barely touch the tip of my big toes to the ground when I was seated on the bicycle.  But somehow, in the manner of cute lil' sisters worldwide, I convinced him to help me. 

My heart was pounding, and I make him promise me that he would not let go of the back of the bike.  I perched on the seat, feeling quite wobbly, held the over-sized handlebars and began to peddle.  Weaving back and forth, my brother calmly walked behind, holding and steadying the bike.  The sun was beating down on the dark brown hair on the crown of my head and a trickle of sweat made a clean path through the dust on my forehead, down my eyebrow and into the corner of my eye.  The stinging sensation made me immediately remove my hand from the grip of the handlebar and I swiped at my eye with the back of my hand, causing the bike to careen wildly and nearly tip over.  Jeff glared at me and said something like:  "You can't expect to ride if you can't balance, dummy!"

I stuck out my chin with angry determination and said "I know I can do it!"  Then I pleaded with him:  "Just help me some more!" 

We travelled up and down the alley for the next little while, and I found my balance and became more steady and began to pick up speed.  Still, I would continually look back with a hurried glance, and a plea that my brother would not let go of the bike.   Gradually, I grew more confident and began to enjoy the feeling of flight, with the wind pushing tendrils of hair back away from my cheeks.  I grinned and pumped steadily with my strong little legs, and with a quick glance back noticed that Jeff was way at the other end of the alley!  My heart lurched and I felt the bike swerve and shudder slightly until I regained my balance and choked back my fear.

I was doing it!  I was riding a two-wheeler!  I felt so triumphant and accomplished!

Somehow I managed to steer myself in a rather large circle and head back towards a grassy patch behind the fence of our back yard.  With a lurch and thudding halt, I crash-landed myself, falling off the bike sideways; tangled up in the crossbar, yet unhurt.  My brother came running over and I exclaimed "I knew I could do it!"

"Ya, ya" he said, condescendingly.  "But now it's my turn to use MY bike!" he argued, as he grabbed it from the heap I had landed in, swiftly jumped on, and rode down the alley.

I settled back against the rough, sun-bleached wooden fence planks and smiled to myself.  I was on a new level now... on par with my big brother. 

With a sudden burst of excitement, I happily jumped up and chased after him, down the alley, then yelled: "Wanna play cops and robbers again?"

Easier Said Than Done...

You should not expect or require anything of others, which you do not require of yourself. The same idea is purported by the saying:  practice what you preach.  I think this assertion can be applied to what we expect of our children - if we constantly harp on them to stop yelling, and yet have a "yelling problem" ourselves; or if we expect them to keep a tidy, uncluttered room and yet insist on piling mounds of bills and letters on our dresser and desk and any other flat space in our room, then who are we kidding?  It is extremely difficult to take advice to heart from someone who shows no success in the area of which they "preach".  Having said that, I am going to continue in the path of simplifying and work to reduce some of the stresses in my own life that are created by clutter, things left undone and time-wasting activities.

I'm reminded of a passage in the Gospels, where Jesus talks about how it is not uncommon to pick at the small problems at other people's lives, while ignoring the major issues in your own life.  Matthew 7:3 says: "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"  As comical and ridiculous as that may seem, it is an honest cut to the heart of humanity.  We're so good at seeing faults in others, and comparing ourselves to others, that we minimalize our own issues!

All of this is easier said than done, and easier done to someone else than applied to myself!  My intent with today's blog, however, was not to become ultra-serious and look at deep spiritual issues.  To be honest, what I'm thinking about is on a far more physical, practical level.  Basically, I have been noticing the benefits of the recent purging in my children's rooms and have realized that it is fully worth the effort.  Already, the house seems cleaner, the children are playing more nicely and no one has said that they really miss their toys.  In fact, we had a large family over for the day yesterday (6 kids, 5 of whom were boys) and after they left, the house hardly seemed messed up at all.  We looked around, a little bit astonished at the outcome, only to realize that much of the mess we had come to expect would have been created by toys!

After making such a tremendous effort to cause a change in my children's lives and simplify things for them, I'm challenged to be more serious about de-cluttering my room (and my life!).  Since the New Year, I was feeling the call or summons to reduce the amount of self-inflicted craziness in my life and as the months have passed, I've made slight changes to our schedules to reduce commitments.  Things have slowed down regarding life outside of our home, and I feel like we're onto Stage 2, whereby we will calm things inside our home by cleaning up, organizing and reducing clutter.

My worst area right now is that I need to catch up on filing.  I used to be quite organized, always putting bills away in their appropriate files immediately after opening them and making note of the payment required.  It's has been nearly 1 1/2 years since we moved, and I have not done any substantial filing since we packed up the old house.  So I'm buried in a mountain of paperwork with important papers filling boxes, strewn across our computer desk,  and piled up somewhat systematically on our dressers... and it sucks!  Granted, I should be given an award for my miraculous ability to quickly find missing papers - like when we needed our codes for Netfile, to do our taxes.  However, admittedly, there are the dozens of other times where I wished I could find a receipt or previous bill and have lacked the information I've needed at a crucial time.

So, I guess what I'm saying is that I've raised the standard for my kids, and to be fair, I must also rise to that standard.  I can't expect them to be neat-freaks when they can walk into my room and see mountains of blankets on my unmade bed; mountains of clean laundry on the floor, waiting to be put away; and mountains of papers scattered on nearly every flat surface!

Sigh... I don't feel quite as exuberant about the work that is to come, but I know I'll feel so much better once it is accomplished. 

The De-Cluttering Continues!!!

If you've missed part one, you might want to read it and get a sense of what's going on in my life!

Wow... de-cluttering can be an emotional event.

I have seen a few clips of the emotionally jarring reality-TV show, Hoarders (and I don't really recommend it), but it has the benefit of opening your eyes to the danger of holding onto stuff.  These people obviously have mental issues that have led to their horribly unhealthy state, but in all honesty, I see a glimpse of myself in their unwillingness to part with objects - particularity ones that are attached to sentiment and emotion-filled memories.

As I work my way through the kids' rooms, I have encountered a variety of emotions.

First, the obvious, there is a gleeful elation as I rid myself of what I feel is junk.  It's a good feeling to think that so much stuff will no longer be on my children's floors and under their beds and it will either be used by a child who will hopefully appreciate it, or, if applicable go to the landfill.  I had to stop myself from saying:  "But Grandma gave them that toy, so I can't get rid of it!" and instead, I would logically assess whether it was a toy we needed in our lives.

Joyfully filling the donation bag...

 Next there has been growling, furious frustration as I sort through the mess created not by myself, but by the ones whom I birthed into existence.  (Is this what God feels like when He looks down on humanity?)  Yet, I will not give up on my precious little people, and I am their mother so if I don't help them, who will?  The process goes something like this:  Barbie shoe, wooden block, hair thingy, apple core, pencil, dirty sock, ripped up paper, princess crown, and on and on I sort...

I found it extremely useful to have various boxes and bins surrounding me as I sorted through toys.  Although I have determined that nearly every toy is going to be confined to the garage for now, I still want to organize them for when/if I do decide to bring them back into the house.  I plan to keep a bin of dress up clothes, wooden blocks, and toy cars with a play mat for them.  Beyond that, I'm not completely sure what is worthy of being called a useful, creative toy.


It's amazing how much stuff we can easily acquire for ourselves these days.  We live in a generation where you can purchase pretty much anything you want for a low price.  With Dollar Stores and WalMart, you can buy all sorts of cheap toys and random household items.  Yet, although they are cheap in dollars, what they cost us in the way they clutter our lives is a hefty price.

I often refer back to the "Little House" series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  They were favorites for me as a child, and I have enjoyed reading them to my children as well.  Life in the late 19th century was difficult in many ways, and they didn't benefit from all the technological advancements that we enjoy today.  However, it was also beautifully simple.   They took care of their children and homes, grew most of their own food and didn't fill their homes with extras like we insist upon today.  Laura started out with a corn-cob doll named Susan (which was essentially a corn husk wrapped in a scrap of cloth)  before she was given her own special rag doll one Christmas.  That was the extent of her toys as a young child.  She and her sister, Mary, would play happily in the attic among the hanging herbs and squash and root vegetables, playing house and pretending to have tea parties.  So simple... and it seems that none of the essential things needed to grow up healthy and intelligent were lacking in any way!

As I continued to de-clutter in my childrens' rooms, there were moments of bittersweet reminiscing about the past.  I relented and allowed myself to save little treasures - like one of Sabrina's first baby toys and a cute, colorful knit baby hat.  I have a box I keep of baby clothes that I can't bear to part with - whether they will be worn by my grandchildren or not, I'm okay with keeping a small "memory" box.  So I decided that a few mementos of times past could also be placed along with the precious newborn sleepers and hats and baby booties.

Thankfully, my children were enjoying an afternoon of activities at the YMCA today, so I hurriedly completed my sorting so I could donate items and box everything up before they returned home.  You wouldn't believe how much work it is, but I'm nearly done.  I can't wait to vacuum the rooms once naptime is over.

Special thanks goes to my sister-in-law who kept my mischievous baby out of the way while I worked.  She also lovingly brought me a latte to keep me going so I could complete the process!

Success is within my grasp... after this rejuvenating latte!

Hoarders: A.K.A. My Children...

I've been tiptoeing around the subject for a few months now, blogging about it, then thinking some more, and I think it's time to pull up my bootstraps and get down to business. 

I'm talking about the need to simplify - for the sake of my sanity, and the sake of my children's overall well-being pertaining to creativity and imagination.  We have gobs and gobs of toys, but they are rarely played with.  It seems that the baby items, specifically are the worst for this - toys that promise to stimulate their budding minds and to create little geniuses (without a tremendous amount of parental effort), and yet, they are poked at for a moment and the baby goes back to playing with a spoon or string or some other household object.

Don't mind me, I'm just going crazy!!!

I have created a plan for myself.  It involves a garbage bag, a donation bag and a storage box.  I'm not going to go "all the way" and throw out ALL of my children's precious possessions (not yet, anyway) so I will consent to storing them in the garage, in the meantime.  My plan is to take every toy and decide whether it is truly junk - and I'll chuck it out - or, if it could be worthwhile to some other child, we can donate it, and if it is one of the "special" toys...I'll throw it in our storage box.

At the end, I hope to only have a few boxes of toys that we are keeping, and from those boxes, I will allow the children to pick a few small items to keep in the house.  The rest will disappear for the next few months... or forever...

So now that I've blogged it, I am committed.  I will report back later with further details pertaining to my progress.

Red Alert: I Feel Out Of Control!

 Where's the panic button?

How do I turn off the world for a while so I don't have to deal with so many issues at once? 

Who is in charge here? 

Oh... it's me.  I'm the parent.  I'm the one who has to figure this out.

Sadly, I am an imperfect vessel.  I don't know what to do.  I don't like how life throws so much crap around, and how I'm responsible for doing the right thing; which often means disciplining the right way because if I don't, my kids might be totally screwed up and it's my fault!

It's not just my kids though.... there just seems to have been an overwhelming wave of bad new lately - so many people dealing with bad stuff, family issues, sickness, and hurts. 

I was out for coffee with a friend the other day, and when she asked how I was doing, I said it was as though I'm stuck in the washing machine, on spin cycle.  Hopefully someone will come and get me soon, and hang me up to dry in the sun.

I'm left with only one option (besides crying and screaming into my pillow for a few minutes).  I have to take my own advice (that I blab on and on about, here on my blog) to pray and trust.

The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.  Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you. (Psalm 9:9,10)

Still hanging on.   I won't stop praying and believing and trusting.   And ya, it always feels better to blurt out all the junk.  Thanks for listening...